LE ROI S'AMUSE
If Montgomery Brewster had had any misgivings about his ability to
dispose of the balance of his fortune they were dispelled very soon
after his party landed in the Riviera. On the pretext that the yacht
required a thorough "house cleaning" Brewster transferred his guests to
the hotel of a fascinating village which was near the sea and yet quite
out of the world. The place was nearly empty at the time, and the
proprietor wept tears of joy when Monty engaged for his party the
entire first floor of the house with balconies overlooking the blue
Mediterranean and a separate dining-room and salon. Extra servants were
summoned, and the Brewster livery was soon a familiar sight about the
village. The protests of Peggy and the others were only silenced when
Monty threatened to rent a villa and go to housekeeping.
The town quickly took on the appearance of entertaining a royal
visitor, and a number of shops were kept open longer than usual in the
hope that their owners might catch some of the American's money. One
morning Philippe, the hotel proprietor, was trying to impress Brewster
with a gesticulatory description of the glories of the Bataille de
Fleurs. It seemed quite impossible to express the extent of his regret
that the party had not arrived in time to see it.
"This is quite another place at that time," he said ecstatically.
"C'est magnifique! c'est superbe! If monsieur had only seen it!"
"Why not have another all to ourselves?" asked Monty. But the
suggestion was not taken seriously.
Nevertheless the young American and his host were in secret session for
the rest of the morning, and when the result was announced at luncheon
there was general consternation. It appeared that ten days later
occurred the fête day of some minor saint who had not for years been
accorded the honor of a celebration. Monty proposed to revive the
custom by arranging a second carnival.
"You might just as well not come to the Riviera at all," he explained,
"if you can't see a carnival. It's a simple matter, really. I offer one
price for the best decorated carriage and another to the handsomest
lady. Then every one puts on a domino and a mask, throws confetti at
every one else, and there you are."
"I suppose you will have the confetti made of thousand franc notes, and
offer a house and lot as a prize." And Bragdon feared that his sarcasm
was almost insulting.
"Really, Monty, the scheme is ridiculous," said DeMille, "the police
won't allow it."
"Won't they though!" said Monty, exultantly. "The chief happens to be
Philippe's brother-in-law, and we had him on the telephone. He wouldn't
listen to the scheme until we agreed to make him grand marshal of the
parade. Then he promised the cooperation of the entire force and hoped
to interest his colleague, the chief of the fire department."
"The parade will consist of two gendarmes and the Brewster party in
carriages," laughed Mrs. Dan. "Do you expect us to go before or after
the bakery carts?"
"We review the procession from the hotel," said Monty. "You needn't
worry about the fête. It's going to be great. Why, an Irishman isn't
fonder of marching than these people are of having a carnival."
The men in the party went into executive session as soon as Monty had
gone to interview the local authorities, and seriously considered
taking measures to subdue their host's eccentricities. But the humor of
the scheme appealed to them too forcibly, and almost before they knew
it they were making plans for the carnival.
"Of course we can't let him do it, but it would be sport," said
"Subway" Smith. "Think of a cake-walk between gendarmes and
blanchiseuses."
"I always feel devilish the moment I get a mask on," said Vanderpool,
"and you know, by Jove, I haven't felt that way for years."
"That settles it, then," said DeMille. "Monty would call it off himself
if he knew how it would affect Reggie."
Monty returned with the announcement that the mayor of the town would
declare a holiday if the American could see his way to pay for the
repairs on the mairie roof. A circus, which was traveling in the
neighborhood, was guaranteed expenses if it would stop over and occupy
the square in front of the Hôtel de Ville. Brewster's enthusiasm was
such that no one could resist helping him, and for nearly a week his
friends were occupied in superintending the erection of triumphal
arches and encouraging the shopkeepers to do their best. Although the
scheme had been conceived in the spirit of a lark it was not so
received by the townspeople. They were quite serious in the matter. The
railroad officials sent advertisements broadcast, and the local curé
called to thank Brewster for resurrecting, as it were, the obscure
saint. The expression of his gratitude was so mingled with flattery and
appeal that Monty could not overlook the hint that a new altar piece
had long been needed.
The great day finally arrived, and no carnival could have been more
bizarre or more successful. The morning was devoted to athletics and
the side shows. The pompiers won the tug of war, and the people
marveled when Monty duplicated the feats of the strong man in the
circus. DeMille was called upon for a speech, but knowing only ten
words of French, he graciously retired in favor of the mayor, and that
pompous little man made the most of a rare opportunity. References to
Franklin and Lafayette were so frequent that "Subway" Smith intimated
that a rubber stamp must have been used in writing the address.
The parade took place in the afternoon, and proved quite the feature of
the day. The question of precedence nearly overturned Monty's plans,
but the chief of police was finally made to see that if he were to be
chief marshal it was only fair that the pompiers should march ahead of
the gendarmes. The crew of the "Flitter" made a wonderful showing. It
was led by the yacht's band, which fairly outdid Sousa in noise, though
it was less unanimous in the matter of time. All the fiacres came at
the end, but there were so many of them and the line of march was so
short that at times they were really leading the processional despite
the gallant efforts of the grand marshal.
From the balcony of the hotel Monty and his party pelted those below
with flowers and confetti. More allusions to Franklin and Lafayette
were made when the cure and the mayor halted the procession and
presented Monty with an address richly engrossed on imitation
parchment. Then the school children sang and the crowd dispersed to
meet again in the evening.
At eight o'clock Brewster presided over a large banquet, and numbered
among his guests every one of distinction in the town. The wives were
also invited and Franklin and Lafayette were again alluded to. Each of
the men made at least one speech, but "Subway" Smith's third address
was the hit of the evening. Knowing nothing but English, he had
previously clung consistently to that language, but the third and final
address seemed to demand something more friendly and genial. With a
sweeping bow and with all the dignity of a statesman he began:
"Mesdames et Messieurs: J'ai, tu as, il a, nous avons,"--with a
magnificent gesture, "vous avez." The French members of the company
were not equal to his pronunciation and were under the impression that
he was still talking English. They were profoundly impressed with his
deference and grace, and accorded his preamble a round of applause. The
Americans did their utmost to persuade him to be seated, but their
uproar was mistaken by the others for enthusiasm, and the applause grew
louder than ever. "Subway" held up his hand for silence, and his manner
suggested that he was about to utter some peculiarly important thought.
He waited until a pin fall could have been heard before he went on.
"Maitre corbeau sur un arbre perché--" he finished the speech as he was
being carried bodily from the room by DeMille and Bragdon. The
Frenchmen then imagined that Smith's remarks had been insulting, and
his friends had silenced him on that account. A riot seemed imminent
when Monty succeeded in restoring silence, and with a few tactful
remarks about Franklin and Lafayette quieted the excited guests.
The evening ended with fireworks and a dance in the open air,--a dance
that grew gay under the masks. The wheels had been well oiled and there
was no visible failure of the carnival spirit. To Brewster it seemed a
mad game, and he found it less easy to play a part behind the foolish
mask than he expected. His own friends seemed to elude him, and the
coquetries of the village damsels had merely a fleeting charm. He was
standing apart to watch the glimmering crowd when he was startled by a
smothered cry. Turning to investigate, he discovered a little red
domino, unmistakably frightened, and trying to release herself from a
too ardent Punchinello. Monty's arrival prevented him from tearing off
the girl's mask and gave him an entirely new conception of the
strenuous life. He arose fuming and sputtering, but he was taken in
hand by the crowd and whirled from one to another in whimsical mockery.
Meanwhile Monty, unconscious that his mask had dropped during the
encounter, was astonished to feel the little hand of the red domino on
his arm and to hear a voice not at all unfamiliar in his ear:
"Monty, you are a dear. I love you for that. You looked like a Greek
athlete. Do you know--it was foolish--but I really was frightened."
"Child, how could it have happened?" he whispered, leading her away.
"Fancy my little Peggy with no one to look after her. What a beast I
was to trust you to Pettingill. I might have known the chump would have
been knocked out by all this color." He stopped to look down at her and
a light came into his eyes. "Little Peggy in the great world," he
smiled; "you are not fit. You need--well, you need--just me."
But Mrs. Valentine had seen him as he stood revealed, and came up in
search of Peggy. It was almost morning, she told her, and quite time to
go back to the hotel and sleep. So in Bragdon's charge they wandered
off, a bit reluctantly, a bit lingeringly.
It was not until Monty was summoned to rescue "Reggie" Vanderpool from
the stern arm of the law that he discovered the identity of
Punchinello. Manifestly he had not been in a condition to recognize his
assailant, and a subsequent disagreement had driven the first out of
his head. The poor boy was sadly bruised about the face and his arrest
had probably saved him from worse punishment.
"I told you I couldn't wear a mask," he explained ruefully as Monty led
him home. "But how could I know that he could hear me all the time?"
The day after the carnival Brewster drove his guests over to Monte
Carlo. He meant to stay only long enough to try his luck at the tables
and lose enough to make up for the days at sea when his purse was
necessarily idle. Swearengen Jones was forgotten, and soon after his
arrival he began to plunge. At first he lost heavily, and it was with
difficulty that he concealed his joy. Peggy Gray was watching him, and
in whispers implored him to stop, but Mrs. Dan excitedly urged him to
continue until the luck changed. To the girl's chagrin it was the more
reckless advice that he followed. In so desperate a situation he felt
that he could not stop. But his luck turned too soon.
"I can't afford to give up," he said, miserably, to himself, after a
time. "I'm already a winner by five thousand dollars, and I must at
least get rid of that."
Brewster became the center of interest to those who were not playing
and people marveled at his luck. They quite misunderstood his eagerness
and the flushed, anxious look with which he followed each spin of the
wheel. He had chosen a seat beside an English duchess whose practice it
was to appropriate the winnings of the more inexperienced players, and
he was aware that many of his gold pieces were being deliberately
stolen. Here he thought was at least a helping hand, and he was on the
point of moving his stack toward her side when DeMille interfered. He
had watched the duchess, and had called the croupier's attention to her
neat little method. But that austere individual silenced him by saying
in surprise, "Mais c'est madame la duchesse, que voulez-vous?"
Not to be downed so easily, DeMille watched the play from behind
Monty's chair and cautioned his friend at the first opportunity.
"Better cash in and change your seat, Monty. They're robbing you," he
whispered.
"Cash in when I'm away ahead of the game? Never!" and Monty did his
best to assume a joyful tone.
At first he played with no effort at system, piling his money flat on
the numbers which seemed to have least chance of winning. But he simply
could not lose. Then he tried to reverse different systems he had heard
of, but they turned out to be winners. Finally in desperation he began
doubling on one color in the hope that he would surely lose in the end,
but his particular fate was against him. With his entire stake on the
red the ball continued to fall into the red holes until the croupier
announced that the bank was broken.
Dan DeMille gathered in the money and counted forty thousand dollars
before he handed it to Monty. His friends were overjoyed when he left
the table, and wondered why he looked so downhearted. Inwardly he
berated himself for not taking Peggy's advice.
"I'm so glad for your sake that you did not stop when I asked you,
Monty, but your luck does not change my belief that gambling is next to
stealing," Peggy was constrained to say as they went to supper.
"I wish I had taken your advice," he said gloomily.
"And missed the fortune you have won? How foolish of you, Monty! You
were a loser by several thousand dollars then," she objected with
whimsical inconsistency.
"But, Peggy," he said quietly, looking deep into her eyes, "it would
have won me your respect."